


Turn My Head Around

by illyriazshell



Series: The Honeymoon Interludes [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Hallucinations, Hypnotism, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, Spoiler! Unexpected FEELINGS, Taking extreme liberties with canon imagery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriazshell/pseuds/illyriazshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after they've gone into hiding, the Murder Husbands' domestic bliss is tragically interrupted. </p><p>Follows my post-finale fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848/chapters/10966493">As Long As We're Going Down</a>, and is benefited greatly by reading that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the follow-up fics I've had on the back-burner since I finished [As Long As We're Going Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848/chapters/10966493), and writing [my semi-fluffy little Christmas follow up]() last week inspired me to try and finish it. Heads-up: it's _slightly_ more angst-filled than the last installment. Enjoy!!

Will jolted awake, sweating and panting, clutching the sheets as sharp moan escaped his throat.

He was on the very edge of release, the nightmare he had just awoke from still etched behind his eyelids and doing nothing to alleviate his arousal.

As if summoned by this very thought, and not the sounds certainly emitted in sleep, Hannibal appeared in the doorway to Will’s room.

“Again?” Hannibal asked, without judgment or resignation.

Will could only nod, could barely see anything in the dark and through the haze of his need. Licking his lips, running his hand along his jaw, he wiped away the sweat along his brow and back through his damp curls, breath still heavy as his body wound tighter in Hannibal’s presence.

“Tell me, Will.” Hannibal stayed poised next to the door frame, which might as well have been the other side of the world, as far as Will’s body was concerned. “Tell me what you need.”

He fought to form words, to force them from his lips as his hand trailed down his body, his chest that was shamelessly exposed and slick, holding steady at the waistband of his boxers.  But he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t allow himself to take pleasure in this.

But he could allow Hannibal.

“Please,” he whined, choking on the words, biting back the bitterness in how pitiful they sounded. “Please, Hannibal, help make this go away.”

Within seconds, Hannibal had traversed the vast space of Will’s room and was at his bedside, peeling back the damp sheet still wrapped around his legs and removing Will’s boxers in a quick, effortless motion. His mouth was on Will before the shaking man could even register what was happening.

The wet warmth that suddenly enveloped Will’s cock had him gasping, flattening back against the mattress and arching up into the heat. Blindly, he clambered at the sweet sensation, unable to hold back every whimper and groan Hannibal pulled from him, diligently working on getting Will off. There was no teasing, no gentle caresses with his hands, no playful laps with his tongue. Hannibal was on a mission to relieve Will of his arousal as quickly as possible.

Although, having purpose in the act did not seem to rob Hannibal of any of his pleasure. Will could feel it radiate off him, burning brighter than the heat of his mouth, and Will did all he could to slam the door of his empathy to shut it out. He refused to draw any more satisfaction from this than was absolutely necessary to get it over with.

“I’m close,” Will stuttered out, hands unclasping from the sheets at his side to grasp at Hannibal’s hair. His first thought was to pull Hannibal off him, afraid that if he didn’t, that this would be seen as something more when it really shouldn’t. Instead, he found his fingers acting of their own accord, clutching harder and holding Hannibal’s head there as he jutted his hips to fuck up into willing mouth, surrendering to the dominance that coiled beneath his skin.

Entirely aware, Hannibal only allowed it for a few thrusts, grunting more in pleasure than pain as Will roughly used him, before he snapped his hands to Will’s hips and forced him hard against the bed.

The shock alone seemed to spark something in Will that pushed him over the edge, his release ripping from him, spilling into Hannibal’s mouth, which wantonly swallowed everything Will offered. Will’s mind was blissfully blank for what felt like hours before the sharp sting of oversensitivity brought him back to himself, where Hannibal was happily lapping up the traces of liquid along his softening length he’d not entirely captured.

Relief flooded Will at the dissipation of his arousal, and his parted lips curled into a small smile at the sudden fondness he felt for the man who had provided it without hesitation.

“Feeling better?” Hannibal asked, clinically, as if he was striking up idle chatter with a patient. As if he wasn’t thrumming with want as he licked his lips to savour the lingering taste of Will.

“Yes,” Will answered with unease, trying not to curse himself for succumbing. “But only in the basest of ways.”

Hannibal quirked a satisfied smile at that, leaning forward to nuzzle at the soft curls around Will’s spent cock, inhaling his heady musk and running the tip of his tongue along the salty, damp skin that lay beneath the beautiful scar he’d once painted along his abdomen. A trespass long since forgiven. And forgotten, by Will at least, now that he had the more pressing matter of his psychic trauma plaguing his thoughts.

“Stop enjoying this,” Will muttered, turning his head up and away, closing his eyes as if to close his mind to the image entirely.

“Would not know how, even if I tried,” Hannibal mused, running his hands lovingly along Will’s side as he explored the tastes of Will’s skin. Ever since he’d been allowed to touch Will as he wanted, ever since Will had admitted to them both that it was something he wanted too, Hannibal had not missed a single opportunity to lavish physical affection on him.

“I can’t block you out right now,” Will groaned, pleading, trying to resist the heat Hannibal poured into him that stoked his own afterglow. “I don’t want to associate pleasure with this. It's unwise to treat my failure with positive reinforcement.”

Hannibal raised himself to his hands and knees, crawling up the length of Will and brushing his obvious hardness between them. Ignoring Will’s words completely, Hannibal dropped his head to nip at Will’s taut neck, eliciting a whimper as Will dug his fingers even deeper in the sheets at his side to resist the desire to run his hands along Hannibal’s back, up his sides, across the soft hairs of his chest before wrapping around his length and returning the release that Hannibal had so graciously provided him. An act of symmetry and reciprocity that Will wanted desperately to perform, but could not allow.

“Eight days, Will.” Hannibal’s mouth worked wonders on Will’s neck, up along the underside of his jaw, and Will shuddered despite everything. “Eight days since you left our bed desolate, since you last let me touch you, treat you, worship you as you ought to be. Eight days that have felt far more like an eternity than the three years you abandoned me.”

“Quarantine,” Will countered, his voice heavy with want and resignation. Hannibal’s length rutted against his stomach and just once he allowed himself an undulation to match it. He gasped. “A necessary precaution, given my affliction.”

“But is it any wonder that you are so affected?” Hannibal breath was heavy at Will’s single jolt against him. “You cannot tame a beast by starving it.”

He traced his tongue along Will’s collarbone before pulling up to press their lips together, waiting for Will’s mouth to yield before he poured his pent-up passion into the kiss.

Upon tasting himself on Hannibal’s tongue, Will could fight himself no longer. His fingers, nearly numb from clutching the sheets, soon found their way into Hannibal’s sandy straight hair, longer and freer than Will had ever seen it before the fall. Hannibal had taken to growing out his hair and adopting a permanent five o’clock shadow as part of his cover identity, and Will couldn’t help enjoying the look. As malleable as Will had been in his becoming, Hannibal’s new rugged appearance was proof that the blurring went both ways, which was satisfying and endearing in nearly equal measure.

However, Will’s satisfaction in the moment was far outmatched by Hannibal rutting against him, whose desires to indulge Will’s returned affections while savouring them entirely drove them both to the brink. Despite his best efforts, Hannibal’s hunger won out in the end, and as his release seized him, it tore through them both. Will, unable to actually come again so soon, nearly passed out with the intensity of it.

“I have missed you,” Hannibal professed into Will’s neck, usually not one for words immediately after their shared pleasure. “I have ached.”

Will’s eyes clenched shut as he gasped for air, running his hands along Hannibal’s bared back.

“You’ve seen me every day,” Will chuckled in spite of his panting. “Since I dragged us off the cliff, as a matter of fact.”

“Not the same,” Hannibal muttered. “Standing out there, with you in here, entirely present but just out of reach. It was as if I was back behind the glass.”

“I know,” Will sighed quietly, pressing a kiss to Hannibal’s temple. “I felt the same.”

Hannibal raised his head to catch Will’s eyes, to show his deep pleasure at this admission with a triumphant smile. But when Will was instead met with the sight of shards of mirrors and dripping blood, all reflecting back Will’s contented expression, he shuddered and swallowed, looking away.

“But we can both survive this separation. The same can’t be said for the alternative.” Will could feel a new, darker need surging through him and he fought the urge to make his visualization a reality, sharply shoving Hannibal off of him. “Please go. _Now_.”

Unfazed by the sudden turn of events, Hannibal eyed Will carefully, suddenly like a predator with all his wits about him. Will felt his skin turn to scales, his vision turning a deep crimson in the darkness, and his body coiled, ready to strike.

Hannibal was quicker, had anticipated this, and had the advantage in both size and position. He pinned Will down as the smaller man tried to fight against him, only needing a few seconds to pull the needle from his pocket and slip it into Will’s neck with precision.

“We will discuss this further in the morning,” he said, expression unreadable.

Will struggled even as the sedative took hold almost instantly, his limbs too heavy to use and consciousness slipping away despite his every instinct to claw, bite and tear Hannibal to shreds.

“Mark my words,” Will growled out, his raspy voice not his own. “I will not be denied what is Mine. Nor what is owed to Me. I will _change_ you, Dr. Lecter.”

As Will’s body went limp, Hannibal stayed steadily on top of him, waiting for his pulse to slow and his breathing to shallow before risking releasing pressure. Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to still lips and sighed against them.

“You already have.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will awoke to the tantalizing scent of hash browns and sausage wafting through the air. As he roused from slumber, memories from the night before flooding his consciousness, he half expected to be chained to the bed. Yet he found he was free of any shackles and the bedroom door had been left wide open.

Instead, he first headed to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Staring at the space that once housed a mirror, blank for reasons of both safety and sanity, Will scratched at the beard that had grown after so many days separated from Hannibal. Without a reflection to rely on, shaving had become yet another codependent act between them. He briefly wondered if he should attempt it on his own, to prove to them both that he could, before simply thinking _fuck it_ and stepping back into the bedroom.

Will cautiously eyed the open door, fists flexing at his sides, arms hanging off visibly tense shoulders. Taking a few moments to steady himself in his wakefulness, he scanned for any trace of the Dragon curled around his thoughts. When he found none, he hesitantly took the invitation, padding his way down the hall.

The size of the open space in their seaside retreat was nearly double Hannibal’s kitchen back in Baltimore, and much brighter thanks to the massive skylight overhead. The stone finish gave the room an old-world feel while inhabited by the most advanced kitchenware available. And of course, behind the island, which housed a large and active grill, stood the only one WIll ever knew who could make appropriate use of such luxuries.

“Morning,” Will said evenly, trying his best not to betray his emotions. He had too many to keep in check.

“Good morning.” Hannibal smiled at him, calm and welcoming, as if the night before had not happened. As if the past week and a half of Will’s self-imposed imprisonment was merely a dream.

Of course, it wasn’t, and as Will passed him on the way to the table, Hannibal kept a noticeable distance, resisting the morning kiss they both had missed and instinctively sought out. Will took his seat at the far end of the table, a space that normally allowed him to face Hannibal as he worked in the kitchen.

Awaiting him was coffee, black with two sugars, and Will tenderly grasped the cup, fingers flexing against the ceramic. Such a simple gesture, to have it ready for him, but his heart swelled nonetheless.

It was one of the many considerate acts that Hannibal had performed for him daily, since they’d taken out the former owner and taken up residence in the recluse’s mansion. Will had missed the small, thoughtful gestures terribly when he’d first separated himself, having to call out through the door and ask for anything to be brought, cuffing himself to the headboard and slipping the key along the floor. Eventually, Hannibal would bring whatever he needed to him, placing it on the desk like a jailer, maintaining his distance, slipping the key back to Will before he left and locking the reinforced door behind him.

Hannibal had been endlessly frustrated by the whole routine, unavoidably reminding them both of their residence in the BSHCI, but he had never once faltered in Will’s requests. In fact, the food and drink Hannibal had brought him during those days somehow managed to be more delicious than ever. It had always left Will wanting more, almost certainly by design, and often he indulged the desire to ask for seconds as excuse to see Hannibal again.

Within moments, Will was pulled from his thoughts as Hannibal brought the platter of various breakfast foods to the table and sat opposite him, serving himself and silently signalling Will to do the same.

“How did you sleep?” Hannibal asked lightly as he sipped his coffee.

Will dug into his hash browns, chewing and swallowing slowly. He rubbed his neck where the needle had stung him before answering.  “I didn’t dream.”

“Probably for the best.”

Will raised his brows in agreement, snorting and looking away. “Yeah, no kidding.”

His eyes glanced past the windows, out onto the veranda and beyond, out to the sea.

“Thank you,” Will added eventually. “For taking care of me last night.”

He did not specify whether he meant Hannibal’s mouth or the sedative. Hannibal did not ask.

An apology was perched on Will’s tongue, but it caught between his teeth and he swallowed it down. They both knew what would happen if Hannibal answered Will’s need, how it had happened the previous three times they were intimate, and how Hannibal had nearly been too slow the third and final time. It had been why Will had sequestered himself in the first place.

Hannibal had risked everything, knowingly, and what was worse was Will had let him. 

Amongst the many emotions swirling in Will’s chest, anger flared hot and bright, but he forced himself to douse it for the sake of the meal.

They both ate in silence, awkwardness and tension tinging what was otherwise a pleasant return to routine. Will only glanced Hannibal’s way a few times before he’d finished his breakfast, deliciously gourmet, yet simple in its preparation. And although his palette had not yet developed well enough to discern, he didn’t need to inquire about the sausage to know what was in it; it would have no doubt been rendered specially to suit their reunion.

“That was delicious,” Will said, trying to show gratitude without saying the words aloud.

He sipped his coffee, not unhappy when he looked up to find his unkempt curls had fallen into his eyes. Will had long since abandoned the safety of his glasses. He’d never needed them in Hannibal’s presence, even before their relationship had become intimate in every way imaginable. Yet without the safety of the bedroom door between them, Will instinctually found himself regressing to his old need of putting up some kind of shield, but now to protect both of their vulnerabilities.

“Shall we discuss where we go from here?” Hannibal paid no mind to Will’s less-than-subtly erected defenses. “I trust we are alone.”

“If I’d felt the Dragon skittering along the corners of my consciousness, I wouldn’t have left the bedroom,” Will replied, placing his coffee down gently. “I wouldn’t have risked it. You know that. But it’s only a matter of time before He rears His ugly, red-horned head again, seeking to claim you.”

“And the longer you remain in my presence, the risk increases.” Hannibal agreed. “Tell me, Will, is it my life you are more worried about? Yours? Or the faceless innocents you’ll encounter if you somehow manage to escape in such a state?”

“All of the above,” Will answered, trying to remain cool as bile rose in his throat at the thought. “For whatever reason, He has suddenly developed a hunger for you and has become ravenous in my denial of it. I’m concerned that if I successfully kill under His influence, I may lose myself to Him.”

He raised his head further, eyes visible as the curls fell back against his forehead.

“I have no chance of returning to myself if the one I kill is you.” Will searched Hannibal’s eyes. “I assume I’ve won the competition for your attention. That you find my company, as I am now, preferable to that of the Dragon.”

“Infinitely,” Hannibal nodded. “Although he is not without his charm.”

Will suppressed a growl, bringing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Then our only way forward, together, is to eliminate this new bounty He has placed on your head.”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering. “What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know,” Will admitted with a resigned shrug. “I’m the patient here, Doctor. But it is clear He has grown resistant to your current regimen of exhaustive treatment.”

Hannibal’s prescribed regimen had kept the Dragon at bay for several months and included combat training, exercise, running, housework, yard work, renovations, mechanical repair and, of course, as many orgasms as they could draw from each other in any given day. Up until recently, the rigorous activity had kept Will’s more uncontrollable urges mostly in check.

It had been necessary, not to mention enjoyable, while both remained in hiding, waiting for the attention on their escape to die down. As such, they both relished the few occasions they could allow themselves to satisfy their bloodlust. But that was out of the question while Will’s psyche had relapsed into unpredictability.

Hannibal’s mouth twitched and he looked down.

“There may be a way.”

Will raised his brows. “I'm all ears.”

Hannibal’s forefinger absently traced the dull blade of the butter knife.

“During our first sessions together, I spoke at some length with Garrett Jacob Hobbs.” He looked up. “I wanted to know more of his connection to Abigail; or, specifically, your perception of it through his eyes. I doubt you remember.”

Will grinned sardonically, but he was hardly surprised. “Of course I don’t. Hypnosis?”

“Essentially.”

Hannibal didn’t demonstrate one ounce of shame or regret as he spoke about this time. He never would; while his manipulation of Will’s fragile mental state had yielded some unfortunate and unintended consequences, ultimately it had achieved the desired outcome.

“You have always absorbed aspects of the killers you’ve profiled, but your relationship to Hobbs was different. Under the proper conditions, I could draw your reconstruction of him from you as a complete personality, entirely separate from your own.” Hannibal smirked. “For instance, your Hobbs knew Abigail had acted as the lure long before you allowed yourself to believe it.”

Will grimaced and took a deep, heavy breath.

The violation he felt at this freshly discovered manipulation was certainly present, but dulled against the memories of so many other transgressions now improbably forgiven. Will allowed the horror, betrayal and forgiveness to cycle through him in the space of an exhale; a technique he’d developed out of necessity, given his choice of companion.

Finally, Will’s curiosity took center-stage. “Did you ever attempt to draw yourself forth? Under the conditions of hypnosis, I mean.”

“No,” Hannibal said firmly, shaking his head. “I wanted to. Desperately. To discover if your beautifully brilliant subconscious had yet connected me with the crimes of either the Chesapeake Ripper or the Copycat. But you spoke often of hallucinating Hobbs, and I could not risk it. Not if my prying had been the cause of that.”

Will nodded, looking around the room. Despite the previous admission, Will believed him. The explanation as to why he’d stopped hallucinating Hobbs during his incarceration suddenly fell into place. 

“So you are offering to provide the same unorthodox therapy for the Dragon as you did with Hobbs?” Will tilted his head. “What do you plan to do with Him once you draw Him forth?”

“I will not share the details in advance, but I plan to excise him from your subconscious,” Hannibal answered. “A psychic surgery, of sorts.”

Will snorted and sneered. “An exorcism.”

Hannibal smiled at that, the irony of placing him in a priest’s role not lost on either of them.

Will leveled his gaze, biting his lip. “This isn’t the first you’ve thought of this.”

“No,” Hannibal admitted.

“Why are you only offering it now?”

Hannibal’s mouth twitched again. “I have several reasons, not least of which is a concern you have already voiced. Your mind is not affected by encephalitis and yet the Dragon’s hold over you is more powerful than Hobbs'. I would not stand to lose you to him.”

Will took in the other man’s carefully controlled movements, the sincere-sounding inflections, the shared concern he tried to communicate to Will with his eyes.

“That’s considerate.” Will shook his head, adding, “There’s more to it.”

Hannibal remained silent, sitting motionless and channeling all his energy towards giving nothing away.

But Will only needed to reach into his own subconscious to piece together Hannibal’s motivations, and he didn’t have to reach far.

“You’re afraid that if you exorcise that particular demon, I will not be sufficiently dependent on you.” Will blinked, considering. “You fear I’ll finally abandon you.”

He suppressed a laugh. Will didn't wonder about the absurdity of the notion; not when his entire demeanor had been meticulously constructed and maintained to allow Hannibal to believe that abandonment was still a possibility.

Composing himself, Will spoke with clarity.

“If I’m not freed of the Dragon, I’ll have no choice but to leave you anyway." It wasn't a threat, but a promise. "Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

Hannibal swallowed thickly. His distaste for this situation was palpable, but he yielded the reasoning to Will. He could not see another way out of this that had the potential to bring a desirable outcome.

He gave a curt nod. “I understand. I will use every tool at my disposal to free you from his grasp. I hope you have faith in me to do so.”

Will smiled then, a warm, affectionate thing. He leaned forward across the table and tenderly took Hannibal’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

“I do,” he said, followed by a short, self-deprecating laugh. "I'm relying on you to keep me sane."


	3. Chapter 3

“So?” Will asked, a loud jangle accompanying his entrance as he dropped the heavy tool bag onto the concrete floor. “Will it hold?”

Hannibal's flinch at the cacophony was microscopic, but the look of displeasure he shot over his shoulder at the rude entrance spoke volumes.

“It should,” he answered, regaining composure. He would be no use to Will if he were so easily rattled. “Your ingenuity knows no bounds. Though the loss of this piece’s integrity is regrettable.”

Between them, bolted to the basement floor, was a chair that Hannibal had found at a local market. A large, plush leather cushion on top of a solid metal frame, the chair bore a remarkable resemblance to Hannibal’s therapy chairs back in Baltimore. Hannibal had worn the most obnoxiously pleased grin when he’d first surprised Will with it, but the grin had become bearable once Will shoved him into the chair, reclaiming the moment as he fucked Hannibal senseless.

“You certain it’s secure. No screws loose?” Will queried, circling his latest project, inspecting carefully as Hannibal watched him. “No bolts unbolted?”

“None that I could find.” Hannibal folded his hands at his waist, amused. “You forget that I do have some experience in this area.”

“I really haven’t,” Will countered. “I just don’t trust that He didn’t slip something by me.”

He curled his fists before relaxing them.

“You can’t imagine how much I hate not being able to trust my own actions. Or my memories.” He leveled his gaze with Hannibal. “Again.”

Hannibal met his gaze, eying him knowingly while saying nothing. He made his way towards the tool bag Will had dropped, crouching to observe its contents more closely. After shifting a few things around, he pulled out a gun and held it curiously.

Hannibal turned to Will, his expression blank. “I think I have an idea.”

Will shrugged and plopped into the chair, toeing off his shoes and kicking them away.

“Shall we begin?” he asked, nodding towards the rope Hannibal was now pulling from the bag and threading through his hands, checking for any weaknesses. “I’d like to get this over with before He changes my mind.”

Hannibal kneeled at the floor beside the chair as Will braced his arm along the side of it. Hannibal wrapped the rope around Will’s wrist, tying it expertly before looping underneath several times and securing Will’s arms to the chair.

“Tighter.” Will cleared his throat. “We’re not playing today.”

“Pity,” Hannibal sighed as he threaded the rope around Will’s chest and over his shoulders, complex in it’s methodology but effective at securing his upper body to the back cushion. “Ideas for games spring eagerly to mind.”

Will breathed in heavily, satisfied at his limited ability to do so. He made the same demand as his other wrist was tied, but the Hannibal shook his head.

“It won’t do to cut off your circulation,” Hannibal said, clasping Will’s fingers as he did so. “I have elaborate plans for these hands after this.”

“You forget that I also have some experience in this area,” Will said darkly, throwing the words back at him. “I broke my thumb to slip out of handcuffs. The Dragon can hardly be expected to show better restraint.”

“The Dragon will not respond well to the discourtesy of that discomfort,” Hannibal warned, kneeling at Will’s legs as he used the remainder of the rope to tie Will’s ankles to the legs of the chair. “These bindings alone will have already insulted him.”

“I don’t give a shit about His discomfort,” Will said. “Or mine, for that matter.”

Hannibal finished and evaluated his work. Satisfied that he’d performed without err, he dropped his chin to Will’s knee, eyes flicking up at him with lust. Their positions intimately familiar, Will’s fingers flexed, his hand instinctively seeking to grab Hannibal’s hair before he was instantly reminded of his restraints.

Hannibal smirked, victorious.

“See?” He lightly grazed his fingertips along the inseam of Will’s well-worn yet high-end jeans, stopping mere inches before his groin and pulling back to repeat the motion. “You are in good hands.”

Will’s mouth watered at the teasing, every muscle in his arms and legs flexing in his helplessness.

“Wait until you put me under to torture me.” Unable to hold back a whimper, his eyes fluttered closed. “Please, this is cruel.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Hannibal argued, his hand finally connecting with the twitching length tucked into Will’s jeans, stroking him through the fabric. “I have no reason not to risk drawing him forth this way now.”

“Hannibal, please,” Will begged again, licking his lips, sparks of pleasure rippling through him as Hannibal stroked him to hardness. “I have to say something.”

“Say whatever you like,” Hannibal muttered into Will’s trembling thigh, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Will’s combined fear and arousal. “It will not earn you mercy from me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say,” Will panted. “Please, Hannibal, I need…”

He panicked at how good this felt, how starved he was for Hannibal’s touch and how desperately he wanted, he _needed_ , to enjoy it. But more important words were wrapped around his tongue, and before they were lost in another moan, he blurted them out.

“I need you to promise that, if you fail, you’ll kill me.”

Hannibal stilled instantly, ceasing his caresses as his hands withdrew. Will looked down to the head still resting in his lap, all signs of arousal drained.

“Upon placing your faith in me, you readily catastrophize.” Hannibal pushed himself off Will and back onto his knees before gracefully rising to stand. He towered over Will, projecting authority. “It will not come to that, Will. I will not let it.”

“I sincerely hope it doesn’t.” Will’s voice was rough, low and on the edge of cracking. “But whatever you need to do to cut Him out of me, whether its shocking me, slicing, stabbing, anything…don’t hold back just because He inhabits my body.”

“Will, I-”

“And if none of that works,” Will spoke louder, ignoring the look bearing down on him. “If it looks like you can’t bring me back, I need you to promise that you’ll kill me.”

Hannibal opened his mouth but said nothing, looking away.

Will’s stomach lurched as he absorbed the utter despair Hannibal was experiencing at Will’s words, imagining the agony he would endure enacting them and the bitter, insurmountable emptiness that would surely follow. How could Will ask this of him when it would mean ending them both? Hannibal suffered at the mere idea of it, his every instinct commanding him to reject Will’s request.

All this, of course, betrayed only by a twitch of his brow.

“Come on.” Will smirked, attempting lightness. “We’ve inflicted far worse on each other. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me now.”

Hannibal straightened his posture, adjusting his sleeves and removing his watch. He tilted his head towards Will, cool and collected, all traces of distress vanished.

“I was merely contemplating more efficient methods of torture, ones that would yield minimal damage to the meat.” His tone was suddenly playful. “I would not see you go to waste.”

Will chuckled heartedly, fondness swelling in his chest, and he nodded. “Anything less and I’d be insulted.”

A while later, Hannibal sat opposite Will, leaning forward, hands folded with his elbows resting on his knees. Dressed in a bold three-piece ensemble, a style Will had rarely seen him in since they’d gone into hiding, he was the picture of professionalism. The only deviation from the image he’d projected in Baltimore was the longer hair, which he had tamed and combed back for the occasion, and his stubble, which he’d left unshaven at Will’s request.

“Strange to be a willing participant in this for once,” Will muttered as the light flashed beside him and his eyelids fluttered.

“Quiet please,” Hannibal requested. “Without the aid of an induced seizure, I will require a calm and open mind.”

“Sorry,” Will said, falsely chastened. "Feel free to crack open the lid at any time."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, steadily through his nose. His eyelids ceased their twitching.

“Listen to my voice,” Hannibal began, his tone smooth and inviting. “Give yourself over to the warmth of my words...”

Hannibal continued to speak without interruption, the power of his voice radiating safety and calm. Will felt the words wrap around him, embrace him and seep into his skin. His heartbeat slowed, his muscles relaxed and his body became fluid against his solid bindings. The flashing light, once intrusive, became soothing in its repetition, its reliability, and he sank further into tranquility, his sense of self becoming pleasantly amorphous.

At one point, Will felt a dull pinch in his arm, the soft pressure of an injection, but a reassuring hand to his cheek had him melting into the touch, and the discomfort was instantly forgotten. The wave of relaxation that had enveloped him continued on for an indiscernible period of time, and Will absently thought to himself that if these were the last moments he remembered, they wouldn’t be so bad.

Before losing himself completely to the cool, serene darkness, a faraway voice summoned the Dragon, and despite being submerged, peaceful and pliant, Will could not suppress the dread that flared up in him.

His skin, once comfortable against the ropes, tightened and hardened as scales began forming, as they always did, starting with his hands. The scales multiplied, moving up along his arms, curving over his shoulders and joining in the middle of his back before spreading down the rest of his body. Will cried out in agony as horns pierced through his skin, spiraling out from his forehead. Large, leathery wings protruded from his back, ripping the skin beneath his shoulder blades before stretching to their full length. Talons elongated from his fingers and toes, and as his thick tail extended from the base of his spine, Will became much too large for his bonds. The ropes snapped in every place that held him and the chair crumbled beneath the magnificence of his transformation.

On his knees, Will screamed and groaned as every bone in his body broke, shifted, re-formed and healed. But when he looked up, he found Hannibal entirely unaffected by his anguish, eying him curiously. Will needed him to run, needed him to understand that he was seconds from being torn to shreds, but try as he might, his growled warnings seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Focusing all his strength on holding the Dragon back, Will felt himself splinter. Familiar protrusions at the base of his neck and along his spine tried to pierce through the tough hide of the Dragon’s scales, a thicket of black antlers erecting themselves as a defense against an unwelcome intruder.

The duel between these impenetrable and unstoppable forces became unsustainable, and eventually, the antlers gained ground as they broke free, ripping through the Dragon’s back and bursting forth, fanning outwards like branches. Will, refusing to complete one transformation but willing to succumb to the other, fought to stand, tearing himself from the writhing red demon on the ground.

Gasping for air, he nonetheless felt victorious, forcing the antlers retract as he sought his bearings.

Suddenly, chains broke through the concrete and wrapped themselves around the Dragon, binding him where he knelt. The beast scrambled frantically against the iron restraints, furious and fighting to break free, but to no avail. He turned his neck, snarling fire, and Will was taken aback when he saw the visage warped into the hideous face of the Dragon.

Staring out from underneath those piercing black eyes was not a creature with Dolarhyde’s likeness, but Will's own.

The beast could do no harm to Will, and Will had no intention of approaching it. He was concerned why he was even present in this moment at all, something he believed he’d be unconscious for. Had Hannibal’s methods faltered? Surely he would have remembered this had it gone this way with Hobbs.

He tried to capture Hannibal’s attention, but the other man’s apparent ignorance to his presence confirmed what Will already knew; that he was an observer to this, his sense of self only occupying the sliver between his subconscious and reality.

The chair materialized again, facing perpendicular to his counterpart and the Dragon, and at a loss of what else to do, Will took a seat.

The Dragon, eventually realizing the hopelessness of his struggle against his bindings, rested back on his haunches, folding his wings. His tail stopped its spasms, slowing to slither back and forth along the cool basement floor. Finally, he raised his head, meeting Hannibal’s gaze head on for the first time.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter."


	4. Chapter 4

“I assume I now speak with the Great Red Dragon.”

The Dragon blinked as he watched Hannibal through narrowed eyes.

“You dare to summon forth my majesty only to insult it by binding it in chains. I expected better of you, Dr. Lecter.”

“The last we spoke, you promised to change me.” Hannibal appeared unfazed.  “I felt we should discuss that. Regrettably, restraints were a necessary evil for such a conversation. My apologies.”

“Do not presume me to be unaware,” the Dragon spat. “I know that you have acted on Will Graham’s behalf. You are his lapdog now, after all. His favourite new stray. Quick to drop to all fours for his pleasure. Begging for a morsel of his affection while offering your own love unconditionally. It would be humorous if it weren’t so _pathetic_.”

Both of Hannibal’s brows raised, surprised at the Dragon’s crudeness. He kept silent, however, not lowering himself to respond to the insult.

“You are seeking to expel me from his mind.” The Dragon clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “So disappointing. You gravely underestimate my influence if you think such a thing is possible. I have invaded more than merely his thoughts. I have conquered every last fibre of his being.”

“Conquered?” Hannibal tilted his head. “With respect-“

“If you truly wished to show the respect you owe me, you would release me, bow before me, and accept your role as sacrifice!"The Dragon growled and shook violently against his restraints. "As fuel for Will Graham’s final transformation.”

Hannibal quirked a smile at the boisterous demand. “So you do seek to change me. I must admit, I’m surprised.”

“You should not be,” said the Dragon, low and sceptical. “You are more intelligent than that.”

“Of course, I did anticipate it as a possibility,” Hannibal responded evenly, “Given that it was your intention during your final moments of occupying Francis Dolarhyde. However, I believed it to be a temporary lapse in judgement on your behalf, given the respect you owe me.”

From the sidelines, Will felt the air chill, and he looked to Hannibal, blinking as the Wendigo momentarily took his place.

Will shuddered at the inky blackness that had replaced his lover’s eyes. Will had not envisioned any such thing for months, but the dark energy radiating off his counterpart at the moment let it be known that Hannibal’s own inner demon still very much existed beneath his human exterior.

The Dragon snarled, clearly sensing this as well, but when Will blinked again, Hannibal returned to them both.

“You do not intimidate me anymore, Dr. Lecter,” the Dragon countered. “I am beyond your control. Knowing the source of your strength only whets my appetite to consume it and meld it to my own.”

“So this has always been your goal?” Hannibal asked, crossing one leg over the other and resting his folded hands against his shin. “To change me?”

“Of course,” the Dragon replied.

“You’ve had nearly a year to do so, and yet you have not attempted it until recently.” Hannibal paused, shrugging. “Why now?”

The Dragon smiled and stretched languidly against his restraints, a satisfied rumble in his belly mimicking a purr.

“Mmm, up until recently, you were acting as a catalyst in my becoming. And while you did not offer up your life, as was rightfully mine to claim, you did offer up much that could stand in its place. For a time. Your encouragement, your mentorship, your companionship, your shared thirst for bloodshed,” the Dragon purred again, “ _your body_. All these provided contentment to Will Graham, assisting his transformation, ensuring he had no way back to his pitiful existence before me.”

Hannibal chose his words carefully. “Our goals are aligned, then.”

“Not anymore,” the Dragon hissed. “Where you were once an asset, you’ve now become a threat. You’ve stalled my metamorphosis, Dr. Lecter, and so your grace period has ended.”

“Stalled?” Hannibal looked as if he’d been slapped.

Will wasn’t sure if he imagined it when Hannibal briefly caught his eye, as if silently asking _C_ _an you believe this guy?_

Will was similarly confused at the assertion that somehow _Hannibal,_ of all people, could be counterproductive to Will’s succumbing to his destructive tendencies. But, of course, Will had no means of communicating this.

Realizing his jaw was hanging open, Hannibal swallowed down his offense at the accusation and closed his mouth. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he turned back to the Dragon.

“May I ask how I might rectify this?”

“As I have made clear, many times, with _unearned_ patience,” the Dragon growled, “you may offer me your life.”

“Certainly there’s another way,” Hannibal proposed. “If I was useful before, I do not see why I cannot be useful still.”

“Your benefits no longer outweigh the burden you’ve become.” The Dragon scratched against the basement floor, clearly tiring of this conversation and Hannibal’s apparent obtuseness. “You are to blame for Will Graham’s resistance of my radiance, and you cannot undo it while you still live.”

“Why not?” Hannibal asked, truly lost.

“Because he is more than content, now; he is _happy_.” The Dragon didn’t hide his disgust. “He has more to lose than himself if he surrenders to me.”

Will’s eyes shot open and breath caught in his throat. He understood, now.

_Shit._

Soon Hannibal would understand too.

 _Shit, shit, shit_.

“That has always been true,” Hannibal said, still trying to mask his confusion.

“The stakes are higher now,” the Dragon said, turning to Will and grinning darkly. “Now that he’s admitted to himself that he more than _craves_ your company.”

Will tried to shout at the filthy beast to keep his traitorous mouth shut, but was frozen silent in the chaos of his panic.

Unimpeded, the Dragon continued. “Now that he knows that he _loves_ you.”

Will held his breath as all air was sucked out of the room.

That wasn’t supposed to come out this way.

Being honest with himself, Will acknowledged that he hadn’t planned on admitting it all. _E_ _ver_.

He’d realized it about a month ago. There had been nothing special about the moment itself, which was of course how he’d realized it. They hadn’t been fucking, or fighting, or knee-deep in bloodshed. None of the high-stakes, hyper-charged scenarios Will had imagined might cause the four-letter-word to cross his mind.

Hannibal had been composing at the harpsicord, a bright, flowery piece he’d been working on for weeks. Will had come up the back entrance to their place, lugging a cooler of fish he’d caught from his afternoon alone, out at sea. Hannibal hadn’t seen him at first, too engrossed in his composition to even smell the sea water wafting off him from across the room.

Will wasn’t sure if it had been the gorgeous music that he’d been playing, the luminous lighting cast over the scene by the setting sun, or the few hours that had passed since they’d last been together that had suddenly felt like a lifetime. 

But without any tangible reason, Will had been struck with how beautiful a creature Hannibal really was, not repulsed by the monster he’d learned to tolerate. He felt fortunate to be in his presence, instead of doomed to merely survive it. Will was honoured by Hannibal’s love for him, rather than frightened what that love might imply about Will’s character.

Will realized he wasn’t making due with the consequences of the choices he’d made. He’d gladly make them again if they brought him here.

In that moment, there was no place he would have rather been.

Will was happy. Because he loved Hannibal.

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ he’d thought, overwhelmed at the realization as he had wiped away a tear.

Hannibal had already sensed him by the time Will approached the bench, not stopping his playing but making a joke about supplying meat that Will was too unnerved to catch.

Will, unsure of what to do, had simply placed a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, gently, before surrendering to his instinct and leaning down to peck his cheek. Hannibal had stilled for a fraction of a second at the affectionate gesture, turning up to look at Will curiously when he had instantly pulled back. Feeling the need to cover, Will had quirked an eyebrow suggestively, and spent the next two hours burying his need to make love to Hannibal under the guise of pure, animalistic fucking.

A few days later, Will nearly choked Hannibal to death with his hands the instant after he came. A week later, the same thing happened again, although Hannibal was wise to it and stopped it much sooner. However, both of their sexual appetites were voracious and could hardly be denied when they were in close proximity, no matter the circumstance. But by the time Will nearly slit Hannibal’s throat with a knife he didn’t remember pocketing, he had more important feelings than _love_ to worry about bottling up.

Finally, Will chanced a glance sideways at Hannibal, who was undergoing a storm of conflicting emotions while trying to remain outwardly passive. He wanted to believe, desperately, and their history meant that the fact Will's silence in no way disqualified it from being true. And yet, the Dragon couldn’t be trusted.

“If Will does love me,” Hannibal said, nearly stumbling on the word, “it’s certainly not in my interest to die and bring you forth permanently.”

“True,” the Dragon admitted, “but I understand now how this love between you could benefit me. If he would die for you, as he has thought to himself, that would not suit me.  But it does mean, presumably, that you would die for him.”

“I would,” Hannibal agreed. “For _him_. Not you.”

“I will claim you either way,” the Dragon said, crackling with menace. “But if I do so in a moment where he is weak, and he allows it to happen, the self-loathing he recently abandoned will fester deeply within him again. It will propel him entirely into my glory. With your sacrifice, however, he may hold on to a piece of himself in his love for you.”

Hannibal twitched at the proposal, but said nothing.

“You’ve always seen the bigger picture, Dr. Lecter,” the Dragon said, adopting Will’s cadence for the first time since he’d been brought forth. “Especially when it comes to Will Graham’s becoming. In that way, you and I are just alike.”

Narrowing his eyes at the hollow impression of Will, Hannibal spoke with the barest hint of disgust. “We are alike, which of course means you’ve also seen the third option you’ve yet to present me.”

“Of course,” the Dragon hissed, pleased. “As much as it is owed to me, you do not have to be the one to fuel Will Graham’s transformation. You could be spared, and Will Graham may endure, if another suitable sacrifice was offered in your place.”

Will’s eyes flared as he realized what was being proposed now. Were he in control of his faculties, he would be sick at the thought of it.

His revelation about his love for Hannibal had pulled him out of his self-loathing, true, but he’d allowed himself to stay content because he hadn’t traded Molly’s life for it.

He tried frantically to insert himself in the conversation, struggling to stand, before he realized that the ropes from earlier were restraining him again. He shook in the chair but was unable to speak, the skin around his lips suddenly stitched together, keeping his mouth shut.

“Will promised me he’d end his life if I allowed you to take Molly,” Hannibal reasoned, though his words sounded hollow.

Will could see Hannibal was actually considering it, because _of course he was_ , and it filled him with a blinding rage.

“He would consider the breaking of my word on that front...” Hannibal thought carefully, “…unforgivable.”

“Will Graham made that promise to you before he loved you,” the Dragon countered. “He may now consider your sacrifice the more unforgivable transgression. I would be willing to risk calling his bluff.”

Will pulled against the ropes with every ounce of strength he had.

Hannibal took a moment to process the proposal.

The Dragon strained against his chains, readying himself to strike against Will, should he free himself.

Hannibal finally stood and, somehow, impossibly, made his way over to _Will,_ pulling a knife from his pocket. Will glanced up to Hannibal’s eyes, pleading for him to see that none of this was what he wanted. That he’d prefer death to everything else the Dragon had put forward.

“You may be willing to risk calling Will’s bluff,” Hannibal said, casting a glance backwards to the Dragon, before meeting Will’s gaze dead on. “But I am not.”

And with that, Hannibal cut Will’s right arm free, placing the knife in his hand before heading back to his own seat.

In that same moment, the chain holding the Dragon’s right talon snapped.

“You’ve made your choice then,” he cackled, and started clawing at the remaining iron with his now free limb. “Your death will be glorious, Dr. Lecter.”

Will scrambled to cut himself free before the Dragon was loose, severing his bindings at the same rate that the beast was breaking free of his own. Once his left arm was unbound, it was easy to pull off the complicated series of knots that held his back to the chair.

He glanced up to see the Dragon struggling to slither out of the chains that held his torso, roaring with victory when his wing stretched and shattered them into a thousand pieces. The Dragon dove at Hannibal, breathing fire, but was held in place by the shackles around his rear claws.

Will managed to cut his remaining leg free just as the Dragon crushed and removed his remaining binds, leaping up to catch the red beast mid-air, arms connecting with his torso and diverting his course.

Will landed hard on the ground, the tough exterior of the Dragon doing little to break his fall. The Dragon was quick, striking out instantly to claw at Will, tearing through his sweater, leaving gaping scratches across his chest.

Will was quick too, much more so now, thanks to his training with Hannibal. He brushed off the gashes, moving to straddle himself over the Dragon, grabbing his head by the horns and smashing it against the hard cement.

The Dragon convulsed at the blow but kept fighting, and Will did it again and again, pleased at the pool of blood that was forming underneath him. When the Dragon tried to buck him off, Will nearly went flying, but clenching his legs shut, he managed to hold his ground. Regaining balance, Will lay blow after blow across the scaly, red face, pleased to add a few new shades of crimson to his palette.

Finally, when the Dragon’s struggling died down, Will leaned over to grab the knife he’d dropped in their initial collision and held it to the Dragon’s throat.

“He worried he couldn’t keep you without me,” the Dragon gasped, breath bubbling beneath a bloody pool. “But it is you who should worry, Will Graham. Do you think you can keep him interested for long without the threat of my becoming hanging over both your heads?”

Will looked upwards to Hannibal, who was watching intently from his seat. Whatever he was seeing, he was utterly enraptured, but it was clear he hoped Will would come out of it victorious.

Will quickly used the knife to slice the stitches along his lips.

“I don't know,” he confessed, pleased to hear his own voice, relishing the freedom to speak after so long. "But I'm willing to risk it."

He drew the blade quickly across the Dragon’s throat, reveling in the thunderous roar that the motion elicited, a booming sound which soon to devolved into gurgles.

Will closed his eyes, basking in the blood that burst forth from the beast’s jugular, feeling blissfully at home in the red liquid coating his face.

_…Seven. Eight. Nine._

“Ten. Wake up, Will.”

Will’s eyes instantly flew open.

He was kneeling, on the ground, in front of the bolted chair back in it’s original location.

There was no Dragon beneath him. No blade in his hand. He ran his palm along his face and pulled it back to see no traces of red. The only fluid he was drenched with was his own sweat, soaking through his sweater that was notably absent of claw marks.

He looked up. Hannibal was standing above him, beaming with pride.

“What happened?” Will asked, his head spinning.

“I believe you slayed another dragon,” Hannibal said, grinning. “Although you will have to tell me the details to be sure.”

Will flexed his fingers, staring at them curiously.

“The knife?”

“Safely with me." Hannibal produced it from his pocket. "You didn’t need it. You haven’t been bound since I injected you at the start.”

Will looked around the room, searching for any clue he could decipher, before resorting to asking aloud.

“Was any of it real?”

Hannibal nodded. “Most of it, I’d wager. Your beautifully imaginative mind just perceived the reality of it differently, as it often has. I simply assisted the process.”

“So,” Will tried with caution, “your discussion with the Dragon…”

“Took place as you remember it,” Hannibal said, extending a hand out to Will. “I amend my earlier statement; the Dragon lacked anything resembling charm.”

Will nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around the dueling realities.

He eventually took Hannibal’s hand and rose to his feet. The taller man helped him gain his bearings, and once Will had them, he backhanded Hannibal solidly across the face.

“You considered sicking him on Molly,” Will said, venom dripping from his voice.

Hannibal brought a hand to his cheek, rubbing it and turning back to Will.

“Only for a moment. You must admit, given the circumstances, I showed admirable-“

“Shut up!” Will snapped. He brought his hands to his mouth, hooking his thumbs underneath his chin and pressing his index fingers together. His gaze burned into Hannibal’s as he contemplated what to say next. “I thought you were going to excise him. Psychic surgery, you said.”

“The Dragon was not a tumour,” Hannibal knitted his brows. “Nor was he a demon, or anything else that could be removed by outside forces."

"So the goal of your therapy was to force me to face that?" Will asked, baffled. "Goddammit, Hannibal, just mix a pharmaceutical cocktail to numb that part of my brain."

Hannibal frowned.

"You are uniquely gifted in your ability to reconstruct complete personalities, but they are merely manifestations of your subconscious, Will. I could not simply numb that without performing a chemical lobotomy."

Will didn't seem fazed one bit by that suggestion, and Hannibal's annoyance was palpable. He actually seemed mildly frustrated that he needed to justify his actions at all. 

"Only you can extinguish the Dragon’s flame that burns within you," Hannibal tried, as if trying to assert that he'd _done the right thing_. "You needed to fight him on your own, to show yourself that you can beat him. _That_  was crucial, for you may have to do so again.”

Will balked at the audacity. If Hannibal had truly believed that the Dragon was only in Will’s head, he had allowed so much of this to go entirely too far.

“I nearly killed you,” Will barked. “You nearly let me! You planned that?”

"No. But when the opportunity presented itself?" Hannibal shrugged. “You were not wrong when you claimed I’d die for you. As you would for me, apparently.”

Will shot him a look of warning. “Now it not the time, Hannibal.”

“On the contrary,” Hannibal said, stepping forward as Will stepped back. “This discussion is entirely relevant, given that it appears to be the root cause of your recent mental fracture.”

Will bit his lip and growled, dropping his gaze to the floor. The hand he’d used to strike Hannibal was suddenly sore, and he massaged it with the other.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Will said, barely above a whisper, but spoken with clarity. “If I’d known it was the cause of this, I would have. Probably.”

“I wish I’d been brave enough to ask,” Hannibal replied, just as softly. “I feared the Dragon’s recent attacks signalled that you had it in mind to abandon me. That you no longer needed my assistance and were finally allowing yourself to hate me, one piece at a time.”

Will licked his lips, searching himself for answers.

“He may be the part of me that knows I _should_ hate you," Will considered aloud. "At least, a piece of me should, as survival tactic, if nothing else. Because I don’t, somehow. Not anymore, if I ever did.”

Will raised his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“Although you really fucking pushed it with that Molly bullshit.”

Hannibal stepped closer, again, but this time, Will stood his ground. Hannibal took Will’s aching hand in his, thumbing it gently, soothingly.

“So you do love me, then.”

It wasn’t phased as a question, but it was still posed as such.

Will rolled his eyes, but he swallowed his pride. “I clearly still have issues with trusting you completely. _Well-founded_ issues.”

Hannibal stepped closer, their bodies inches apart.

“Today’s therapy will be pointless without a breakthrough, Will.” Hannibal suggested, his lips hovering over Will’s. "You may be risking relapse."

Will sighed, looking up at the man he’d given up everything for. The man who, given the chance, would take it all away again without batting an eye. And, despite everything, Will would let him.

“Yes, okay?” Will finally whispered, swallowing his hesitation. What else did he have left to lose? “Fuck it, I love you.”

Hannibal closed his eyes at the admission, the confession, the hard-won declaration. Will could practically hear his heart singing, he was so overcome with joy. He pressed his lips softly to Will’s, and fireworks exploded behind the shorter man’s eyes.

Will brought his free hand to clasp at Hannibal for balance. “Jesus, what _the hell_ did you inject me with?”

“Mmm, yes, it would still be circulating in your system.” Hannibal’s evasive tone was downright mischievous. “I understand the effects can be quite pleasurable. With the proper stimuli, of course.”

“Christ, I feel like I’m floating with just a kiss,” Will moaned, his arousal hitting him like a freight train. “You better drag me upstairs, before _whatever it is_ wears off, so I can fuck you against the ceiling.”

Hannibal threaded his hand in Will’s hair and braced an arm along his lower back, pulling their hardening lengths close together, accelerating the process. Will shuddered as pleasure sparked through him with an intensity couldn’t remember experiencing before, and he sought out Hannibal’s lips again.

Instead of yielding immediately, however, Hannibal paused, pulling back to tease.

“Would it not be more accurate to state you want to _make love to me_ against the ceil-“

But Will shut him up quickly with yet another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed it!! This particular progression in their story has been gnawing at me since I completed ALAWGD, and I'm so pleased I took the time to finally let it out ^_^
> 
> [illyriashell.tumblr.com](http://illyriashell.tumblr.com/)


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